Enjoy!

TW: Homophobia

Ibrahim

Chapter 72

The Truth

Speaking about my fears and sorrows and loneliness had not pushed my friends away, as I had feared.

Instead, it had brought us closer together.

I'd spoken to Erik and Christine once before this way, in Persia. After Izad wrote me the letter that made me fear he no longer loved me, before he was Shah, I'd become drunk in front of them. Spoke of my anguish. And then left, not talking to them for quite a while. I'd put on my usual mask of nonchalance and joy after I was able to compose myself, and they told me that I didn't need to pretend to be happy around them. I'd somberly said that it wasn't an act - that I genuinely felt comfortable in their presence.

Perhaps that had been a lie. Perhaps I simply wanted to forget I'd been a mess, and that they'd seen. Perhaps I, deep down, believed that they were choosing not to look at me with pity out of respect or politeness, and their true feelings were that they were disgusted by my emotions.

And perhaps I had been wrong all of this time.

When I cried in their apartment, rather than look away and wait for it to be over, they embraced me. I'd been entirely unprepared for it - though it was exactly what I would have done had it been Christine or Erik who'd been weeping. It was what I'd done in the past, in fact.

I just didn't expect the same courtesy.

They insisted I stay the night on the couch. But Azizah was home, and if for some unknown reason Nadir had been unable to stay, she was alone at night with her child, frightened out of her mind for where I was. I had to get back there. I had to speak to her.

So I left shortly after, asking them to visit as soon as they could. They promised to. I left their home, back into the darkness. I walked, feeling more and more shame with every step.

It was nearly three when I arrived home. I unlocked the door to a lightless apartment. I could see nothing, and for a moment, at the silence, I presumed that perhaps Nadir really had gone home.

But then I heard his voice from the couch: "Decided to come back, then." He switched on the lamp beside the couch. He was sitting, though it looked like he had been lying down, the way his hair stuck up on the side. "I thought you'd run away."

I glanced in the direction of Azizah's room. "Is she asleep?"

"She is. After about four hours of crying."

Allah. "I am sorry."

"I don't need an apology."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And you? What about your apology?"

"What about it?"

"It seemed out of nowhere."

"Did it?"

"Yes. Since when do you apologize?"

"Since I started feeling...a way I haven't in a long time. The way I felt with Rookheeya. I want to be rid of my pride and make room for-"

"Love?"

Nadir looked away, toward the coffee table, where a cup of tea was half-drunk. "You've made yourself clear. You do not want me marrying your sister." He cleared his throat. "I hope you'll at least allow me to be her friend."

I felt like a bastard. A selfish bastard, ensuring two people could not share in love just because I was miserable.

"You love her, Nadir?"

"I do."

"And you will take care of her? Be gentle with her? Show her she is worthy of kindness, the way her last husband did not?"

He turned slowly to me. His speech was slow, tentative. "Yes. I will. I would, if I were her husband."

"Have you already asked her?"

"No. I wanted to ask you first. I was planning to do so tonight, but you guessed my intentions and refused-"

"And," I continued, ignoring his last remark, "you plan on treating Dilara like your daughter? You plan to consider Azizah Reza's mother? You plan to give her the loving family she was robbed of?"

He stood gradually, giving me a level stare. "What, exactly, are you saying?"

"I am saying that if Azizah wants this, I will not deny her love, simply because I will be lonely. If Azizah agrees to it, then you may marry my sister."

Over the next five days, there was quite a bit of excitement when it came to Nadir and Azizah's engagement. There were talks of wedding preparations. And Azizah, upon finding out that I gave her new fiancé permission to marry her, forgave me for my outburst quite easily. She knew that it wasn't my nature to be that way - she knew, could tell, that something had been bothering her. When I shortened the explanation to the fact that I would miss her if she married Nadir, she hugged me and told me that I would never lose her - that Nadir would certainly let me visit whenever I wanted, and she was sure they'd visit me as well.

And now - now there was the matter of the weekly dinner at the de Chagny estate. Now I had to face Raoul.

But this time, when we gathered in the parlor, and then sat at the table, I did not attempt to speak to him. He would not speak back. To my satisfaction, my lack of engagement confused him. He watched me - I could see it out of the corner of my eye.

Somehow I needed to get him alone, get him to talk to me. I needed to have this conversation whether he wanted it or not.

Mid-dinner, mid-conversation, I suddenly stood up from my seat and left the dining room. The guests hushed, watching me, and Raoul stiffened as I exited into the hall. I made my way through the estate and into the library. I left the door open, sat in a chair, and waited.

If Raoul didn't come looking for me, then at least I could enjoy the peace and quiet away from the squawking nobility and their veiled prejudice against those with my skin tone and accent.

But within five minutes, there he was. In the doorway, hands on either side, watching me with muted anger. "What are you doing, M. Ali?"

"Oh, he speaks."

His lips thinned. "Come back to the dining room. We are here to spy."

"No. I don't think I will."

He widened his eyes. "M. Ali, this is my home. If I do not want you in my library, I will-"

"Force me out? All right. Do it."

He stilled.

"Better yet," I continued, "why don't you officially tell me that you do not love me and never want to see me again."

He paled, whirled to check if anyone was listening behind, and then closed the door so that we had privacy. He took a few steps in, so that he stood in the center of the room, away from the cracks in the door where servants might be listening. "I told you I do not wish to have this conversation," he said.

"I am merely asking you to tell me you do not love me." I stood from the chair.

I could see his chest rising and falling with breath. "Why?"

"Because," I explained, and gradually closed the space between us. "I have been in this situation before. I was in love with a young man, who was in love with me, and he ended things because he was frightened - not because he no longer had affection for me. This hurt more, Vicomte. So I am demanding, for the preservation of my own heart, that you tell me you do not love me." I was directly in front of him. "That way, I can appropriately move on."

"And...what?" he stammered, foot stepping back but not moving from where he stood. "What, do you - do you love me? Is that it?"

"Yes."

His gaze whipped down. That pink returned to his cheeks. Deep and rosy.

"I do," I continued. "And I need you to tell me that you don't feel the same. I need you to tell me you want nothing to do with me because you have no attraction to me, not because you can't handle your emotions when I am near."

No response. I could hear his breath.

"Tell me, Vicomte."

"I can't," he whispered.

"Why?"

"Because that's an unfair thing for you to ask me to say."

"Why is it unfair?"

"Because I do."

I waited.

"I do love you." He closed his eyes, and suddenly his cheeks were wet. "But I am scared. I'm beyond frightened. For what that means for my life. For my soul."

My heart broke and was restored at once. I couldn't help my hand that reached out and began wiping the tears from his face. To my surprise, he let me.

"Do not be frightened," I said.

"How could I not be?" His voice was a breath. "How? How are you not scared out of your mind?"

"I am more frightened of living a life without love."

His face crumpled and more tears fell.

"You will not go through this alone," I said, and he finally looked at me. "I will be with you. We will navigate it together."

His hands shook at his side. "I feel perverse."

"Could you stop it if you tried?"

"No." An immediate answer. "I've tried all my life."

"Then we hurt no one but ourselves by trying to deny it." My hands went to both of his cheeks. "I don't care what your brother has told you all of your life. You are not perverse. There is nothing wrong with you, Raoul."

He stared at my lips, as though marveling at the sound of his name on my tongue. And then, as though he needed to try my name on his, he whispered, "Ibrahim."

Like it was a beckoning, I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his. This time, he was the one to deepen the kiss.

The door to the library opened. We pulled apart, whirling to whoever had entered.

Philippe de Chagny. Alone. But as he realized what we'd been doing, a look of white hot fury lit his face. His eyes were wild.

"Raoul." He bared his teeth, and looked at me. "With-" His mouth opened and closed several times. "How many people have seen you do this?"

"None," Raoul said quickly. He looked ready to faint.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Only tonight-"

"I don't believe that for a second." Philippe entered, closing the door again. "I've seen how you look at each other. I thought, perhaps, you'd refrain, Raoul. I thought you'd avoid these disgusting-" He made a face like he was about to spit. "I knew you were having thoughts, but to act on them - again!..."

Raoul closed his eyes. He was swaying very gently.

"You are an abomination." He said the words like he'd been thinking them for a long time - like he'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity to say them. Like he'd been holding on for this exact moment. "You have been so since you were born. You were unwanted, Raoul, by your own mother, who had been content with her step-son." He gestured to himself. "You killed your own mother upon your birth; do you realize that? Not even she could live with the thought of you being her child. You should have done us all a favor and dripped down our father's leg upon your conception."

Raoul took a step back, as though he was looking for something to steady himself. His entire body shook. I stepped in front of him as a reflex.

"And you!" He looked at me. "Get out of my home and do not return." He turned to Raoul. "You go with him. I will not have a vile deviant under this roof."

"It's my home too," whispered Raoul, shock freezing his every muscle. "It's my estate too, Philippe. You can't force-."

"My father passed it onto me before you were born. He died from heartbreak over the loss of the mother you killed before he could adjust the will. You are here as a kindness."

"Philippe..." He sounded out of breath. "Please. I am your brother."

"Not anymore. Out. Or I will tell all of Paris that I have disowned my sibling because he fucks other men." He swung the door wide. "Out!"

Raoul was shaking, sobbing, on the sofa. Besides him, it was only myself and Azizah in my apartment - Dilara as well, of course. Azizah held her child, watching Raoul cry uncontrollably. I'd explained to her that his brother disowned him, though didn't go into specifics. She'd offered at least twice to make him tea, and at least three times to give him something to eat. He refused both. He did, however, accept the spare pillow and blanket she offered.

"Will he be sleeping here tonight?" she asked.

"I think so," I responded. And just like that, she was trying to play the perfect hostess. After a time, though, the sound of Raoul's cries triggered Dilara to wail too, and my sister had to go and attend to her daughter in her bedroom.

I stayed with him, not saying a word, just letting him release his emotions. He'd lost his home and been verbally massacred by his brother in the span of five minutes - there was quite a bit to unleash. When he started to calm, I set up the pillow and blanket so that he could lie down. He closed his eyes as I kissed his forehead.

I told him I would leave my bedroom door open when I went to bed.

I only retired to my own bedroom when I knew he was asleep.

And I only fell asleep when I could hear his breathing even out, when I could hear his soft snores.